As good as his word, “The Hummingbird” sheet music lay upon her bureau. It looked very complicated. However, having heard it played often, Brilliance could hum parts of it and might be able to pick out the tune.
Surely, Lord Hewitt would admire her determination while also being inspired by seeing the music in print. If she could play a little of Mr. Castern’s wonderful composition, then she hopedLord Hewitt would write down one of his own for her to learn to play.
Vincent could not believehis ears.Hissonata was coming from the conservatory’s open door.Plonk, plonk, plonk. A second later, he shook his head.No, it wasn’t his music. Simply something that sounded a little like his melody. Then again, yes, it was his!Wasn’t it?
Drawn toward the room, he knew whom he would see at the piano by the long pauses between the notes that made her torturous to listen to. Sure enough, Lady Brilliance was on the stool.
Plonk, plonk, plonk.
The dark-haired young lady was hunched over the keys, her left elbow upon the piano case, while she studied the page before her and picked out the notes with her right hand.
The page!
Striding forward, Vincent couldn’t believe his eyes.“The Hummingbird” by Ambrose Castern.He felt ill just looking at it.
Her head swiveled to look up at him an instant before he snatched the printed sheets from the piano’s music rack.
“Lord Hewitt, please put those back.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the staves filled with the notes he’d composed years earlier. And then red fury clouded his vision.
“Please, my lord. I wish to practice this lovely piece that you were playing recently.”
He stacked the pages together and tore them in half.
“No!” she shrieked, rising to her feet. “That was meanly done of you.”
He looked down at her. “Where did you get this? I am certain my cousin did not have it.”
“From a shop.” Then she stamped her foot, distracting him. “Why did you tear them up? You had no right!”
“I had every right,” he ground out, but then he stopped.Did he want to confide in this particular female?
“You are jealous of Mr. Castern?” she asked.
“No!” he shouted nearly as loudly as she had.
“I am glad to hear it, for you shouldn’t be.” She laid a hand upon his arm. “Why don’t you write your own on similar sheets with all those helpful lines —”
“Staves,” he said curtly.
“I had no idea there was a name for them. Let me see.” She reached out her hand.
Unthinkingly, he returned the pages to her. Quick as lightning, she ran around the other side of the piano.
“Thank you. I shall use some glue or whatever our hostess keeps on hand to repair these. Elsewise, I will never be able to practice.”
“Return them at once,” he ordered, going around the piano and holding out his hand.
The minx darted out of reach. Vincent tried again, but she kept eluding him. Like children, they were running around his cousin’s piano. Finally, he ground to a halt.
“Give those sheets back to me.”
“No, they are mine,” she said, lifting her chin to infuriate him further.
He gave chase again. “I do not wish to hear you play that music.”
“How rude! If I practice, I will get better.”
